


Thalmor Methods

by Espereth



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Community: skyrimkinkmeme, Gen, Interrogation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espereth/pseuds/Espereth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn - a Khajiiti member of the Thieves Guild - encounters the Thalmor interrogating Etienne Rarnis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thalmor Methods

**Author's Note:**

> For the Skyrim KinkMeme: http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/2438.html?thread=5677958#t5677958

I crept down the stairs, ready to put an ear to the door, but the scent of the room found me first, and I couldn't suppress a shudder. I had the right room - this was the interrogation chamber, and the Thalmor were using torture to get their information. 

It was the same smell as the dungeons at Helgen. Human blood - both fresh and dried - and piss that stank of terror and misery. I remembered Ralof's face when he'd seen what had been done to his comrades in Imperial custody. I didn't care about the civil war, and saw no reason for a Khajiiti thief in his right mind to support the Stormcloaks - but Ralof was a better man than some, and I'd gladly helped him slay the old torturer and his apprentice. It had felt good to tear the old man's throat out with my claws. 

I unlocked the door to the Thalmor torture room and eased it open. The stench was now overwhelming, and it was all I could do to keep my breathing silent. I crept onto a balcony that overlooked the room. Below, a Thalmor interrogator in hooded robes sat at a desk outside a filthy cell, which contained a soldier in Elven armor, and a prisoner shackled to the wall.

"Let's start again, at the beginning," said the interrogator, his voice calm and haughty. 

"Not again! Divines, I've already told you everything I know," said the prisoner. Behind the bars of the dingy cell, I couldn't see much; but from his scent I knew he was Breton, and terrified.

"You know the routine by now, prisoner. Anyone would think you're being deliberately uncooperative - and you know what happens when you're uncooperative." The questioner nodded to the soldier, and she backhanded the prisoner with one gauntleted hand.

The prisoner took the blow with a grunt of pain. "For pity's sake, I don't know anything else. Don't you think I'd have told you already?" 

"You know the rules," said the soldier. "Master Rulindil will ask the questions."

"Indeed, I will," said Rulindil. "From the beginning, prisoner. Tell me about the old man in Riften."

"All right, all right. If you want to hear it again, fine. Aren't you getting bored with this? I know I am."

The Thalmor soldier delivered a savage punch to the Breton's stomach, and Master Rulindil laughed. 

"You know there's no point being smart with me," he said. "Start talking."

Voice tight with pain, the prisoner began to speak. "I saw him in the Ratway. Like I've already told you, a hundred t-" He was cut off with the sound of a flat-palmed slap that rang with metal and tempered moonstone. 

"Down the Ratway... in Riften," the Breton said, his voice now muffled from the beating. "He's an old man. Kind of crazy. Maybe he lives there, I don't know."

"And his name is?"

"I don't know," the Breton whispered, then cried out in sharper agony. Again, I couldn't see what was happening, but I suspected the soldier had introduced a blade into the mix. 

"Please, I'm telling you the truth. I don't know. He could be this Esbern you're looking for. I can't say for sure." 

Then there was the sound of a blunt object, maybe a dagger hilt, striking a man's head; chains rattled as the prisoner slumped, unconscious.

"My apologies, Master Rulindil," said the soldier. She stepped out of the cell. "He isn't dead, but he won't be saying anything for the next few hours."

"Never mind," said the interrogator. "He is weakening. But next time, try not to hit him in the head _quite_ so often, hmm?"

"Of course, Master."

 _The Ratway. Riften._ Suddenly, I placed a name to the Breton's scent.

I'd seen him around once or twice in the Ragged Flagon. _Etienne Rarnis_. A fellow thief - and I'd just watched him get beaten unconscious. 

My stomach tightened. I'd never liked the Thalmor, and posing as a servant at their ridiculous function was galling. I'd wanted to go in as a guest - born and raised in Skyrim, I barely have an accent. I can make polite, diplomatic smalltalk with the best of them. Of course I still sound Khajiit, but not like your typical stereotype. I don't go around telling everyone to walk on warm sands; I've never felt them myself. But Delphine had insisted a Khajiit in rough linen with a basket of cleaning supplies would attract less attention than a Khajiit in fine clothes with an invitation. She was right - there were advantages to Altmeri snobbery. I'd been prepared to initiate some kind of distraction to get into the kitchens, but it hadn't proven necessary. I might as well have been invisible. 

No, the Thalmor had never been my favourite people. But I realised I'd never really hated them until now. No-one in the Flagon gave a damn about your heritage; either you could do your job, or you couldn't. We were all thieves, brothers and sisters in shadow and stealth. There, I'd found respect and friendship. And now these torturer scum had harmed one of my own.

I breathed deeply. If I was going to take them out, I'd have to do it quietly. And - even though they didn't deserve it - _quickly_. I crouched on the balcony. Rulindil was making notes in a leather-bound book; the soldier was heading for the stairs. She walked up them towards me. I slid my small dagger out of my sleeve, the hilt hard and solid in my hand. As she reached for the door, I slipped behind her, covered her mouth with my free hand, and slit her throat. Blood spurted onto the wall as I lowered her body to the stone stairs. I would've liked her to see me before she died, but stealth was more important than satisfaction. Rulindil had heard nothing, still writing his notes. 

I made no noise as I approached him. Grasping the back of his head, I slammed his face down on the table. His nose broke with a satisfying crunch, and he gave a muffled cry of pain and outrage. His left hand crackled with energy as he readied a spell. 

"None of that," I said, grinning. I lifted his head and slammed it down again. Dazed, he let the spell dissipate before he could cast it. 

"You're pretty slow, for a specimen of the master race," I told him. "Maybe you should've used your magic to sharpen those high-born senses."

"Who... sent you?" he groaned.

"The Blades," I replied. "But this is for the Thieves Guild." I drove my blade into the back of his neck and left it there. Let the Thalmor find it. I smiled again. If they traced it back to the Guild, that would throw them. Maybe they'd think twice about abducting one of us again.

A quick search of Rulindil's pockets turned up several keys. One of them would fit Etienne's cell. 

"Etienne," I hissed as I tested the keys in his cell door. "Time to go, brother."

He stirred as I got the door open. It creaked loudly on its hinges. _Night Mistress Nocturnal_ , I prayed, _I swear I'll make a special offering if nobody heard that._

"Not again," Etienne said as I entered the blood-stained cell. His eyes opened, but it was clear he couldn't see who I was. "Please, I've told you everything."

"It's all over, Etienne," I told him. "Let's get you out of this skeever hole, and back to Riften."

He managed a laugh, blinked at me. "Razhid?"

"That's right, brother." Not bothering with keys, I slipped a lockpick into the mechanisms of Etienne's wrist shackles, one by one. Etienne tried to stand, but his legs gave way. I lowered him to the floor. Getting him out might be a challenge, but there was no way I'd leave him here.

"I... can walk," he said. "I just need a minute."

"We don't have a minute," I said. "Hold still." 

I'm not much of a healer. Or any kind of mage, really. I know basic spells, but that's about it. I laid both hands on Etienne. Divines, he'd got thin. His ribs stuck out like a stray dog's. There were fresh cuts and bruises all over his bare chest and back, and his wrists had been rubbed raw and bloodied from their shackles. He stank of fear. 

My hands grew warm, then hot, as a pulse of red light swelled under them. Etienne gasped and shuddered as my clumsy but effective healing spell swept through his body. I couldn't do much for him right now, but that at least would get him on his feet.

"Ugh." Etienne pulled himself up, shaking. "I'd heard you weren't much for spells, but that was awful." 

I hissed a laugh, and clapped him on one shoulder. "Seems good enough to me," I said. "Now, move. How do we get out?"

"That trapdoor," Etienne said, leading the way. "It's probably our best chance. That's where they put the bodies. No idea what else is down there."

"Guess we'll find out," I said, taking a last look at Rulindil's slumped body. Wish I could've made him suffer, but at least he was dead. The bastard never should've touched a guild member.

**Author's Note:**

> For the Skyrim KinkMeme: http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/2438.html?thread=5677958#t5677958


End file.
